


Luxury

by sobachka



Series: Zoyalai Works [5]
Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends to Lovers, F/M, Royals TM, also nikolai's fjerdan, also vasilys a bitch, oh well, sorta yeah, zoyalai as kids have my heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobachka/pseuds/sobachka
Summary: Crown Princess Zoya of Ravka and Crown Prince Vasily of Fjerda have been set to be married since they were kids, but throughout her childhood, it was the second prince that was there for zoya.or best friends to lovers and i promise it's happy at the end--"Is he at least good enough?" she asked, snatching a sweet roll from the plate Nikolai had helped her sneak out of the kitchens.Nikolai looked surprised, his light brows raising, "for you?"Zoya rolled her eyes at that, "no you dolt, for Ravka."He laughed, then scrunched his face up and said, "I don't think he's good enough for Ravka's waste bins, honestly."That earned a snort from Zoya.Then Nikolai dusted sugar off his hands and turned to Zoya with a curious expression, "aren't you upset?"He seemed to be genuinely asking, but Zoya merely raised a brow, "why would I be upset?"He shrugged, "you won't get to marry the one you love."She huffed, repeating the very words her mother had said to her when she'd asked a similar question, "princesses don't have that luxury."
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky, Vasily Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky
Series: Zoyalai Works [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789732
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Luxury

Crown Princess Zoya Nazyalensky was hiding under a table.

There were at least four excuses already on her tongue if anyone found her, but with the adults shouting over each other, she doubted anyone would notice her.

Zoya could just make out the shapes of her father's shoes, and those of the Fjerdan delegation.

Things were not going well at all.

"-and what exactly did you expect?" the Queen's shrill voice rang out, and the response came in the form of a snarl, words heavily accented.

"We  _ expected _ you to honor our treaty."

"Honor-?" she watched her mother slippered feet brace to stand, and could just picture the way her father reached a calming hand out to the woman, settling her.

"Surely there's something else you want, something we can settle on that would suit both our needs?"

Calm, as always. The King never raised his voice, never shouted, and when her mother would scream and deliver sharp blows, he was always the voice of reason. Zoya wished terribly that she was more like him.

A beat of silence.

"We need your loyalty," the Fjerdan King- she'd seen him earlier and could just picture his fat face flushed red from shouting. "Something we can rely on."

Zoya had the strangest feeling she was watching something important happen, that between one beat and the next, things will be irreversibly different.

She was right, though she didn't know it just yet.

"Why are you hiding?" She jumped at the sound, hitting her head against the bottom of the table and hissing in pain. Whatever was being said seemed important enough that none of the adults noticed.

"What are  _ you  _ doing here?" She whispered furiously as the figure came into focus. A boy- her age, perhaps only a few years older, putting him at ten or eleven with bright hazel eyes.

" _ Neither _ of us is supposed to be here, I think," he reasoned.

She supposed he was right. 

That's when she noticed that the room had gone quiet.

Whatever had transpired between the two delegations, she had missed it because of the idiot blond who had startled her.

"I think we have an agreement."

What Zoya did not know or understand then was that it was the very words she missed were the ones that would change her life forever.

"What was that about?" the boy asked now, nodding at the two parties.

Zoya narrowed her eyes at them, scrutinizing the way her mother's feet seemed glued to the ground, the stiff posture of her father.

She shrugged, "nothing to do with us."

  
  


The boy's name was Nikolai. He trailed after her when the room emptied and they both slipped out unnoticed. And the entire time he would not stop talking.

"Do you ever shut up?" Zoya asked irritably, glancing up at him. He gave her a crooked grin, displaying one missing tooth.

"Not if I can help it."

She rolled her eyes, checking both ends of the hall before tiptoeing to the right.

"Who are you, anyway?" Zoya whispered. Though she shouldn't have bothered keeping quiet, not when he responded loud enough to make her cringe.

"Nikolai Opjer, of course- at your service" he gave her a perfectly executed bow. Zoya made a face.

"Fjerdan? Just my luck," she shook her head and continued down the path.

"Not doing much better yourself, Princess," he said with a wink.

"Don't call me that," she snapped.

There, at the end of the hall, were the stairs leading up to her room. She started heading there and then stopped abruptly when Nikolai followed.

Zoya turned to him, irritation already evident on her face, "you need to get going, Opjer. If my mother-"

" _ Zoya! _ " The Queen's voice echoed in the hall, and Zoya's heart sank at the sound. If her mother knew she'd been eavesdropping… 

She tried to forget the last time she'd been in trouble- the dark room, a door that wouldn't open no matter how hard she banged on it, the smell of dust and the taste of her tears lulling her to sleep.

Nikolai seemed to read her expression, and his brows drew together.

A second later, the Queen had crossed the hall to them, and snatched Zoya's arm harshly, fingers digging into her skin. Her beautiful face was twisted in a fake smile as she turned her attention to her daughter.

"Queen Sabina!" Nikolai said suddenly, drawing both mother and daughter's attention to him. He had on a smile made for princes as he bowed.

"Thank you so much for allowing Zoya to show me the grounds, I'm sure my father will be pleased to hear how excellently the Ravkans treat their friends."

The woman blinked, sharp blue eyes watchful. Then all at once her face melted into a smile, and she loosened her grip on Zoya's arm.

"Well, aren't you sweet? Come, I'm sure I heard them looking for you, I'll show you the way out."

And Zoya watched, stunned, as her mother led the boy away. He turned to her once and gave her a thumbs up, that same crooked smile returning.

That was the beginning of Zoya's friendship with Nikolai Opjer, though she hadn't known it then. 

It turned out the conversation she'd overheard was indeed important. It had to do with Zoya herself, and the Fjerdan Crown Prince, Vasily.

"Bleh," said Nikolai when she told him, days later. They were seated on the grassy floor of the Grand Palace's gardens, "Vasya's the worst- he never let's me train with him and the others, says I'm too small and too dumb."

Zoya raised a brow at that. She didn't know much about Nikolai, but dumb was certainly not a word she would attribute to him.

"Is he at least good enough?" she asked, snatching a sweet roll from the plate Nikolai had helped her sneak out of the kitchens. 

Nikolai looked surprised, his light brows raising, "for you?"

Zoya rolled her eyes at that, "no you dolt, for  _ Ravka _ ."

He laughed, then scrunched his face up and said, "I don't think he's good enough for Ravka's waste bins, honestly."

That earned a snort from Zoya.

Then Nikolai dusted sugar off his hands and turned to Zoya with a curious expression, "aren't you upset?"

He seemed to be genuinely asking, but Zoya merely raised a brow, "why would I be upset?"

He shrugged, "you won't get to marry the one you love."

She huffed, repeating the very words her mother had said to her when she'd asked a similar question, "princesses don't have that luxury."

  
  


It was a year before she saw Nikolai again. He came along with the other Fjerdans for the Ravkan King's funeral.

He'd found her sitting alone off to the side as her mother sobbed quietly from across the room, her aunt trying to comfort her with hushed words and soft promises, her lips pursed and her expression full of sorrow.

"Is this seat taken?" someone asked.

"Yes," Zoya said without looking up. She'd been staring hollowly at the vase of flowers set before her for what might have been hours. Between one day and the next, her entire world had turned on its head.

When the owner of the voice sat, she looked up. Nikolai's light brows were drawn together as he watched her, and she was surprised to find herself relieved to see him.

"Don't say you're sorry," she said quietly.

"I wasn't going to," he said. And when he reached a hand out under the table, Zoya let him lace their fingers together and they both sat there, not speaking for some time, the soft melancholic music filling the air between them instead.

That time he stayed for a week, and when Nikolai left, he asked Zoya to write to him.

"So I won't get lonely," he'd said with a smile, though she knew even then it was for her.

She agreed.

  
  


They wrote to each other almost weekly, and talked about the most mundane things- Nikolai had taken an interest in sailing, and Zoya was studying constellations in her free time.

_ If you come back, I could show you the ones I've learned. _

She'd told him once, and in return, Nikolai had promised to take her on his ship once he acquired one.

It took two years before the Fjerdan delegation paid them another visit. By then, she hadn't heard from Nikolai in weeks, and was admittedly excited to see him- had even come to greet them herself.

Five tall, large men and one lanky teenage boy arrived in a carriage, and none of them were Nikolai.

"Princess Zoya," 

She looked up to find icy blue eyes watching her, a smug smile already stretching the Fjerdan's lips. At sixteen, Vasily seemed to have only gotten taller, and no more handsome.

"That's  _ her highness _ to you," she said with obvious distaste.

The boy shrugged, adjusting his cuffs, "we can work out nicknames some other time, maybe once we're married."

For some reason unbeknown to Zoya, her heart clenched at the words, and she thought of Nikolai.

Who was absent. And had not written to her.

"Perhaps," she managed, turning away from him. Before she could abandon him completely and return to her rooms, Vasily spoke.

"Aren't you going to ask about  _ him _ ?" 

Zoya paused, stiffening. She tossed her hair back the way her mother did and cut the Prince a glare, "about who?"

"My brother," he said with a smirk. "Want to know why you haven't gotten any letters?"

She hated his tone, and hated that she  _ did _ want to know.

"Tell me." she said, crossing her arms and looking up at his icy eyes.

"He's gone and joined the  _ Druskelle _ , like an  _ idiot _ ." he said the words smugly, as though he expected her to turn up her nose at her absent friend. It took a moment for her mind to connect what she knew about the  _ Druskelle-  _ soldiers, she’d heard, trained from a young age to spend their lives protecting Fjerda. She looked Vasily up and down with disgust.

"He's fighting for his country, and you're here on a vacation- do enlighten me,  _ moi tsarevitch _ , which of you is the idiot?"

His face flamed red and his expression turned to a snarl, but Zoya only stalked away from him.

If they were to be married, she supposed he would do to learn a thing or two about bravery.

  
  


_ I hear you’ve joined the Druskelle. Not a complete idiot, then, are you? I suppose I'll have to wait to discover which of us is better with a sword. _

This time, she did not address her letter to the palace. And this time, she received a response.

_ You, with a sword, Princess? Even Djel will fear you then.  _

The words brought a smile to her face and Zoya rolled her eyes, answering his questions with ones of her own- she told him about her aunt, who had made her life since her father’s death more bearable, and the girl she had recently taken under her care, Lada. 

And Nikolai told her about the friends he had there, a Dominik who he said was more a brother to him than Vasily ever had been.

Between these letters, the aforementioned Crown Prince on his visits alternated between inviting her for dinners and inviting the maids to his bedroom.

She was relieved when at last he left.

  
  


Nikolai now had a wolf cub, and he’d named it  _ Sturmhond _ , a name that made her snort. The Ravkan translation for Storm Dog did not seem particularly creative to her. She told him as much.

_ You might better understand it if you see him- furious creature with eyes like a storm. Remind you of someone, Princess? _

Zoya did not respond to that letter. Her fourteenth birthday had come and gone, and with it, the news about her aunt’s death. She was in her room, curled up beneath the covers, letting her tears soak into her pillows when a knock sounded at her door.

“Stay out,” she snapped, turning her voice to steel. In response, the door opened a crack, and she lifted her eyes to face the intruder, only to find a blond head peeking inside. Her vision was so blurred she thought she might be imagining things, but even after she wiped her eyes he was still there, taller, his shoulders somewhat broader and dressed in the deep blue uniform of a  _ Druskelle _ .

“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, taking a few hesitant steps toward her. She sniffed, looking him over.

“Don’t you have to be at the camp?” she whispered, drawing her brows together in confusion. Nikolai shook his head, more determined now as he came to stand in front of her. He brushed a fresh tear away with his thumb, hazel eyes intent.

“This is the only place I have to be.”

The words brought another tidal wave of tears from her, and she buried her face in Nikolai’s uniform, feeling the bed shift as he sat beside her, running his fingers through her hair and whispering soothing words.

He never said  _ it will be alright _ , instead he whispered,  _ you’ll make it through this _ .

And with him beside her, Zoya believed she could.

  
  


For weeks, Nikolai was banned from sending or receiving letters since he’d apparently run off after somehow receiving news about her aunt and coming to comfort Zoya. And though she missed his letters terribly, she used the additional time to practice, losing hours to the training grounds, punching where she wanted to scream and letting her emotions start and end with the point of her sword.

Then one day, a letter from a name she vaguely recognized in handwriting far neater than anything Nikolai would ever send arrived.

_ Dearest Zoya,  _

_ I wish you well. My friend here does too. As does his cub (he requested I add that). It is very cold, and we hope the weather turns soon. Currently, we are hiding in a cave as a test to our strength. Our Captain believes this will either break us or make us men. My friend is having more trouble surviving without your letters than without food and water- I cannot tell if this is good or bad. _

_ Do respond soon. _

_ Dominik.  _

She'd had to reread some of Nikolai's old letters before the name registered in her mind, only then did she respond- though her letters were admittedly shorter and far less detailed since she knew they'd be seen by more than one pair of eyes.

And for a year, that was how they communicated. Sometimes the letters were loopy and perfectly lined, other times the words were messy and the handwriting was one she recognized instantly.

But always they were signed,  _ Dominik _ .

Until one day they weren’t.

_ Dear Princess Zoya of Ravka, _

_ We regret to inform you that the soldier you have been frequently contacting has passed before he could receive your last letter due to an attack the Druskelle faced in Halmhend. He fought bravely and died well, may his soul rest with Djel. _

_ Best regards, _

_ Captain Morozova _

Zoya had dropped the letter almost as soon as the words had registered. An attack-  _ they were attacked- he might have- he could have- _

She raced to her quarters, snatching up an old cloak and throwing it on before slipping out through the servant's stairwell. And once she was out of Os Alta, she took a carriage straight to Djerholm.

Arriving at any Palace unexplained would never have been an easy task, but Zoya had been far too occupied thinking the worst to plan ahead. 

She certainly hadn’t planned to find Vasily at the gates.

“ _ Djel _ ! If it isn’t Princess Nazyalensky herself!” he said this with a smirk. Zoya winced at the sound of his gruff voice. She had been forced to endure more and more visits by him to the capital over the past few years, and she was becoming more and more keen on avoiding him.

“Vasya,” she greeted, canting her head. He had grown a mustache. It looked ridiculous.

“Come to see me, have you, sweetheart?” he asked.

_ If he’s smiling, then surely Nikolai can’t be dead, right? _

One look at his smug face told her otherwise. He would probably throw a party. It was freezing cold outside the Palace gates, and Zoya was just about to ask Vasily to let her inside when a voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Princess?”

Zoya whipped her head back to find Nikolai standing there, blinking rapidly, his brows drawing together. She didn’t bother hiding the relief on her face as she threw her arms around his neck, hours of fearing the worse coming back to the surface.

“You’re okay,” she breathed, clinging to him for a moment too long. Nikolai startled, still looking like the world was moving too fast for him to comprehend. 

“Of course I am. What are you…?” he frowned, trailing off.

Zoya retrieved the letter from her cloak, handing it to him. “I heard about Halmhend, and I thought maybe…” she didn’t let herself finish.

Realization dawned on his face as he read the letter and something like guilt crossed his features, “I should have written, I’m sorry.”

Zoya looked at him strangely. There were bags under his eyes, and he looked pale, his face drawn.

_ Dominik _ , she realized with a jolt. 

“Come on,” she said, stepping back and turning away.

“Where?” he managed.

“Inside, then we’ll talk.”

“Princess, you should just go,” Nikolai got out, his voice sounded strained and tired. She turned a sharp glare on him, lacing her words with steel.

“This is the only place I have to be.” she said, parotting his words from so long ago.

He didn’t object further. And, Zoya noted, Vasily was no longer there when she turned around, nothing but snow and the great white menace that made up their Palace in view.

They made their way inside, but Nikolai seemed to shrink at every turn of the halls, as though his very being there was painful. Zoya hesitated a moment, scanning the rooms- surely there was something here that could comfort him?

Her eyes landed on an abandoned bottle in a warmly lit room. She slipped inside, snatched up the bottle, then strolled past Nikolai to the stairwell.

If there was one thing she recalled from her childhood visits to Fjerda, it was that they had a flat roof that was almost always abandoned.

For a while they just sat there, letting the cold nip at their skin and the warm burn of whatever the bottle contained drown out their thoughts. 

Then Nikolai lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a swig and letting his hazel eyes travel over the snow, as though seeing something that wasn’t there. 

“He’s gone,” he whispered faintly.

“I know,” said Zoya.

“I think I loved him.”

Zoya reached out and squeezed his hand, “I know.”

Nikolai was different after Halmhend- gone was the open boy with a crooked smile, and instead he seemed to be constantly wearing a mask, laughing louder than everyone else, drawing people to him with a fake glimmer that was not his own.

But then Zoya had been different after Liliyana’s death, too. If she'd had hard edges before, the experience had only served to sharpen them.

They kept each other straight through it all, letters and jokes passed between them. Zoya had mastered the use of nearly every weapon at Ravka's disposal. She'd gone to visit the orphanage where her cousin now stayed when her mother refused to take the girl in.

And Nikolai had acquired the ship of his dreams.

_ I've named her the Volkvolny, Wolf of the Waves- it sounds better in Ravkan than in Fjerdan. She's a beauty, Princess. You'd love her. _

She responded that she wouldn't mind being captain of the  _ Volkvolny _ for some time. And a week later, Nikolai sent her a hat and a letter with just a few words scribbled on it.

_ Two weeks. Os Kervo. See you there, Captain. _

At sixteen, she should have been able to come and go as she pleased, but her mother had only gotten worse since her aunt's death, and if she was scary when she was angry before, she seemed to be angry all the time now- and that made her terrifying.

After the stunt she'd pulled for Nikolai, the Queen had trapped her in the cellar for a week. But Zoya knew she'd do it again and again, if he needed her.

She found a pair of trousers and a white shirt that resembled what a sailor might wear, and paired it with a long deep blue coat that matched the hat she'd been gifted- and brought her sword along, of course.

And two weeks later, in the middle of the night, the Crown Princess slipped away and headed for Os Kervo's docks.

She  _ was  _ beautiful, a sleek ship one could only afford if one were the second prince of Fjerda. Which luckily, Nikolai was.

And more beautiful was the smile that split Nikolai's face at the sight of her, his hazel eyes sparkling. 

"All dressed up for me, Captain?" he said with a raised brow. Zoya snorted, pushing past him and stepping onto the ship. The floor dipped beneath her weight, a feeling she would never grow accustomed to, no matter how many dignitary trips she'd been forced to take.

Nikolai was even more enthusiastic than  _ she _ was, which said a lot, pointing out everything from the name painted on the hull to the individual hand carved door knobs of the cabins, providing explanations and stories for each.

Their tour ended on the deck, the world rocking gently beneath them. In theory, they were going to sail away, away from their problems and their responsibilities- to a world of their own.

More realistically, they lay down side by side and watched the stars, wishing their time was not restricted to Zoya's mother waking up and Nikolai's father noticing his absence.

Nikolai screwed up his face as he searched the sky for the appropriate answer. He swore he'd studied the stars for her, but it was becoming apparent that he was either a bad learner or had poor eyesight. 

" _ That _ one?" He asked, pointing up at unspecified air.

"Nikolai, that looks  _ nothing _ like a bear," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"That's the point of stars! They all look the same!"

"How do you intend to sail with no knowledge of the stars?"

"Ah, but that's what I have you for." 

She rolled her eyes, a small smile on her face. Beside her, Nikolai shifted, propping himself on his elbow so he could look down at her. Zoya was no artist, but the sight of him with the backdrop of the stars, golden hair outlined around him almost saint-like was something she didn't want to forget.

"Come and sail away with me, Princess," he said softly.

She raised a brow at him, "and abandon Ravka?"

He rolled his eyes, "hang Ravka! What has it done for you save cause you pain, anyway?"

Her heart clenched at his words. He wasn't wrong.

Nikolai leaned closer, as if knowing he'd picked the right string, hazel eyes bright. Her heart was tripping over itself at the movement.  _ Strange _ , she thought. That didn't used to happen around Nikolai.

She didn't used to notice the curve of his lips, or the way the shadows brought out the sharp line of his jaw.

"Come on, Princess, we'll go wherever you want." his words were quieter now, and he was close enough that she could feel his breath ghosting her lips as he spoke.

"And what about Vasily? Who's to settle this debt between our countries?"

"Right," he muttered, drawing back, something like disappointment crossing his features. He sat up and let his arms rest on his knees, turned away from her.

She sat up too, wishing she hadn't spoken at all. What might have happened then? But her words soured both their moods with their truth. There would be no running off and discovering the world. She had all of Ravka counting on her to fix it.

  
  


Things were different after their little escapade. They wrote to each other, though less frequently, their words always stopping just short of what they really wanted to say, but couldn’t.

The distance between them grew with time, though neither truly forgot about the other.

It was only when the princess turned eighteen that the Fjerdans returned.

This time, to seal a deal long since made.

Zoya found she was dragging her feet as the day approached. Too close- had it already been nine years since she'd overheard those exchanged words? How had time slipped by so quickly? She had spent her life being prepared for this day- a pig raised for slaughter. 

It didn't help that the only letters she received from Fjerda were from her fiance, who grew more and more eager for the promise they'd been made. 

Not a word from Nikolai.

The Fjerdans arrived a week early, as if determined to make Zoya more miserable with their presence. The Queen insisted Zoya be there to greet them, and remain with them during the welcoming ball. So Zoya dressed in the deep blue gown that represented Fjerda’s colors and wore the crown that seemed to way twice as much on her head, and headed down the steps to meet the new arrivals. 

He hadn’t changed much, Vasily. Still the same glassy eyed dolt she’d known as a child. The person who had in fact changed quite a bit stood just behind the Crown Prince, eyes straight ahead like a soldier- which gave Zoya the opportunity to study him. His golden hair was neatly parted, shoulders broader beneath an unblemished red ensemble. She wished she could see his eyes and read his thoughts the way she had when they’d been younger.

But he was very determinedly avoiding her gaze.

Which left her to the wandering eyes of Vasily, who took her hand and pressed his wet lips to her knuckles. She thought she noticed the smallest of smirks on Nikolai’s lips when she looked up- but that must have been a trick of the light as he continued to avoid her stare.

Vasily offered her his arm and she accepted, letting him ramble in her ear- something about his Fjerdan sports, races between different breeds of wolves. She had to stop herself from wondering what would happen if Prince Vasily were to drop dead within the next few hours. And when she wasn’t thinking about murdering her fiance, her thoughts would return to Nikolai.

The last letter she’d received from him had been at least six months ago, and his words had haunted her since-  _ I think it’s best we not write for some time, Princess. Things have changed for me and the distance might do us both some good. _

What things? Had he only kept contact because of his brother? Had Vasily stopped him from writing to her, perhaps? Or maybe he’d found someone else. A girl or a guy to fill the space of his best friend.

The last thought made her heart clench for reasons Zoya could not have explained. 

“You seem distracted,” the gruff voice at the shell of her ear brought her thoughts back to the present, where she was currently dancing with her fiance. Her husband to be. The man she would spend the rest of her life with. She had known all along that this would happen, so why did it bother her now?

His lips brushed the shell of her ear, fingers tightening their hold on her waist. It took everything in Zoya not to shove him away. She settled for stepping on his foot, and received a yelp in reward. 

Vasily’s icy eyes found her’s, and though his grip loosened around her, he still leaned close enough for her to smell his foul breath.

“You look ravishing,” he murmured in what she was certain he thought was a very attractive manner.

“I know,” She said, turning her face away, searching the crowd. Where had he gone?

An irritated grunt from her partner made Zoya roll her eyes as the song came to a close. Vasily held her for a second longer than necessary before pulling away and muttering “you wouldn’t have minded if it was  _ him _ .”

Then, by some intervention by the Saints, he turned and strolled back to the table reserved for the couple. 

Zoya raised a brow at his retreating form, wishing suddenly that she could sanitize every part of her he'd touch. She searched the crowd for some escape, someone to keep her sane, and hopefully drunk, for the remainder of the night.

Her eyes landed on a pair of bright, hazel eyes watching her from the corner of the room. Zoya sucked in a breath, then narrowed her eyes at him. She’d had enough of this nonsense to last a lifetime. Without breaking eye contact, she stalked straight towards Nikolai.

He seemed to realize he was stuck, his jaw clenching as she approached, but she didn’t care.

“Princess,” he greeted. Zoya did not respond, only held out her hand. When Nikolai simply raised a brow, she rolled her eyes.

“Dance with me.” she demanded.

"I'm certain those are activities best reserved for the Crown Pr-"

Zoya didn't let him finish, leaning closer, her words a sharp whisper.

"You will  _ not _ go against the wishes of the future queen, Opjer."

An amused smile graced his lips, familiar sparkle entering his eyes.

"Shall we, then?" He offered his hand and Zoya accepted it, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor.

His hand settled on her waist, the other lacing with her own as she brought a hand to rest on his shoulder. It seemed practiced, almost, and if it weren't for the repulsive memory of Vasily's touch, she might have believed it was just a normal dance.

But she hadn't felt the heat of Vasily's body, hadn't been drawn to it the way she seemed to be with Nikolai. She hadn't looked into his eyes, but with Nikolai she couldn't look away.

"You've been avoiding me," she stated.

"Princess, I live in a different country, that's hardly what I would call  _ avoiding _ ." His smile this time was more forced, slipping into that saint forsaken mask.

"You know what I mean, Nikolai. No letters,  _ things have changed- _ explain exactly what has changed. I need to know." 

Something crossed his face, too quick for her to categorize before it was gone. His jaw clenched, and he looked away, past her.

"Why does it matter?" He asked, drawing back to spin her once before catching her waist again.

"It matters to  _ me _ ." She said, settling her hands on his chest for a beat too long.

Nikolai swallowed, hazel eyes searching hers.

Then he pulled back, dropping his hands like he’d been burned and turning away. Zoya stumbled as another couple bumped into her, still spinning in each other’s arms.  _ On all the Saints _ , she thought, watching him disappear into the crowd, heading outside. 

The music didn’t stop or slow, and hardly a second later, some duke had already come to fill his place- no one would leave the Crown Princess on the dancefloor. 

No one, it seemed, save for Nikolai. 

  
  


Once she’d disentangled herself from the crowd of people, and dismissed a few more offers to dance, Zoya tried to remember where Nikolai had headed. That wasn’t too difficult, she knew all the hiding places they’d both grown familiar with over the years. His favorite had always been the gardens, and Zoya went straight there first.

Sure enough, there was Nikolai, head tipped up and watching the night sky with a melancholic expression. For some odd reason, her heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“Have you figured out which constellations are which yet?” she asked, coming to a stop just a few feet away.

A small smile touched his lips, “I’m afraid not, Princess.”

“You were always a hopeless case,” she managed, crossing her arms as his eyes settled on her, bright as stars themselves.

He didn’t respond to that, an awkward silence filling the air before Zoya broke it. “Why haven’t you written?”

Her voice was quiet, and yet somehow steady though she wanted more than anything to yell and shout. But that was a trait of her mother’s she never liked.

Nikolai ran a hand through his hair, averting his eyes. A beat. Two. “I did write, actually.” he huffed a laugh, “I wrote to you every day, Princess. I wrote about the stars I thought you’d like, and how it felt to sail across the True Sea. Everywhere I went, every place I saw, I wrote to you about it because all I could think of was  _ you _ .”

His charismatic mask had slipped and the boy she knew was there again, honest, and for some reason baring his heart to her.

He swallowed, shaking his head, “but I couldn’t send any of them- not once I realized why. Once I realized that I…” he trailed off for a moment, eyes finding hers. “I love you, Princess.”

Zoya sucked in a sharp breath, heart hammering in her chest. What had he said to her so long ago, in this very garden?  _ Aren't you upset? That you won’t get to marry the one you love? _ Tears pricked at her eyes. It wasn’t fair that she was paying for a mistake her parents had made. That she had to give this up- give  _ him  _ up.

She was so tired of having everything she loved taken away- when had her life become no better than her mother’s cellar? Trapped, choking on air, the world closing in around her.

“Nikolai…” 

“I know,” he said, a rueful smile tugging at his lips, “princesses don’t have that luxury.”

Her own words echoed back at her, too bitter to be mocking. 

Maybe her mother had been right, maybe love  _ was _ a luxury, but who said she couldn't afford it?

She didn't let herself think- that was dangerous. Thinking might lead her back inside, to the arms of a man she did not love. Instead, Zoya closed the space between her and Nikolai, fisting her fingers in the material of his shirt and pulling him to her, crushing her lips against his.

Whatever wall he'd had up came tumbling down as Nikolai let his fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her against him as if now that she was there he couldn't let her go. All thoughts abandoned her and the world seemed to start and end with the curve of his lips, his warmth enveloping her, the way he angled her head back and deepened the kiss.

When she pulled back, Zoya was breathing hard, feeling his breath against her lips, the lingering ghost of his touch against her skin. She hadn't realized she'd been crying until Nikolai brushed a tear away with the base of his thumb.

"I love you, you idiot." she managed to get out, sniffling.

Nikolai chuckled softly, "I know."

She wasn't sure how long they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, time having slipped away, cocooning them in a single, perfect moment.

Eventually, Zoya pulled back, adjusting her crown, wiping away traces of her tears. "I'm not marrying Vasily." She said, with more determination than she felt.

Nikolai's eyes snapped back to hers, confused, "Zoya, you can't-"

"Yes I  _ can _ . The alliance is between two countries, not two people." she'd had these thoughts so many times before, a fantasy world better than the one she lived in, one where she had power over what she could do. Perhaps it was time that that world became her reality.

"And I only need a Fjerdan prince to do that."

Realization dawned on Nikolai's face, and a smile pulled at his lips, "why, Princess, did you just propose to me?"

"Vasily's still in there, you know-"

" _ Djel _ ," he huffed, "if I knew you were going to be  _ so insistent-" _

The death glare she shot him was enough to stop his teasing, though the bright smile that split his face was still there when he pulled her to him again.

"If you spoke idiot, you'd know that meant yes, Princess." He murmured softly.

"I talk to you all the time, don't I?"

His hazel eyes were alight when he leaned forward again, capturing her lips again in a second, softer kiss.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

She thought of every time he'd been there for her, every happy or sad event in her life, they'd all been with  _ him _ . He was always there, a constant presence, a shoulder to lean on, someone to talk to. Someone who understood her. And when the world seemed determined to take away everything good she had, it left her this one gift.

She wasn't going to let him go any time soon.

"I'm sure."


End file.
